


A Quill For A Quill

by PRllNCE



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Edgeplay, Exhibitionism, Feathers & Featherplay, Gags, Humiliation, M/M, Mind Break, Non-Consensual Tickling, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Threesome - M/M/M, Tickling, Verbal Humiliation, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-09 15:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5545139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PRllNCE/pseuds/PRllNCE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reyson wakes to find himself in a situation where he's forced to either watch or take action, but not the type of action he'd had in mind; if he doesn't submit the ordinarily untouchable, mighty King Tibarn of Phoenicis to the kind of torment he has just been witness to, that conniving Naesala will never drop those feathers and let them go. For whatever reason, he'll keep the hawk exposed and stretched until every inch of that ironically hypersensitive skin has suffered raw, playful torment. And it truly does seem ironic for someone so powerful and unfazed to now be so vulnerable, so defenseless... so maddeningly ticklish.</p><p>Naesala takes advantage of this, fully intending to have the hawk king dance to his fingers as he squeezes out every last wail, every last laugh... until he may end up regretting his decision entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black and white

**Author's Note:**

> This is purely a fantasy scenario and does not reflect the views of the writer. Any noncon or implied noncon piece of mine is fictional play only, and I do not fetishize the practice itself or the trauma that follows. Respect consent, take care when reading my work and please stay safe.

Immediately upon waking, Reyson was overcome with an unmistakable sense of wrongness. He knew this feeling; the lack of audible life, the dull sensation of walls and ceilings pressing down on him... this time it was coupled with an invasive scent of some sort. From what knowledge he had of such things, he could discern that the source was perfume, or perhaps incense. At least the latter would explain how sluggish he felt.

   Upon careful inspection he appeared largely unharmed, so Reyson began by gently pushing himself up onto his knees with slow, lethargic movements. Slender fingers searched for steady support around him, feeling only a cold, hard surface beneath his  ashen frame. At the moment, he couldn't recall anything useful. But even despite his disorientation there was no question about it; he had been taken here by someone. The thought unleashed some unpleasant memories before Reyson's inner vision and he found himself involuntarily clenching his jaw with distress.

   No restraints held him back as far as he could tell--thankfully he could still move his wings just fine--but something in front of Reyson kept him from moving any further. He searched carefully as he fumbled in the darkness, but found no opening ahead--although this wall appeared different from the ones around him; the surface was smoother and not as imposing. Sure enough, as he ran his palm across it he could sense the distinct surge of magic tingling throughout his fingertips. He frowned and a worried crease formed on his noble features like footprints on snow.  Someone meant to keep him here--someone with power--and he didn't wish to stick around for what.

  Reyson took a breath and placed both hands on the barrier, hoping to dispel it by any means necessary, when he heard a sudden jangling sound and tensed up. He leaned forward, his wings curled up as if protecting him, and focused his eyes on the source.

   There it was again; a jangle, a clank... now the sound of heels on flooring. Reyson bit down and swallowed, cursing the poor night vision of his kind as he kept squinting and waiting to get used to the thick darkness.

   But it turned out he wouldn't have to; with the approaching footsteps came the warm sight of candlelight. With every step of the holder, it illuminated different parts of the room, all dreary and insignificant until it passed a figure; the source of the jangling, Reyson realized. He recognized it as chains. A shudder passed through his body and he instinctively moved to hold his arms, digging his fingernails into the fabric of his sleeves. He wondered who the chained figure was and if that was to be _his_ fate.

   As if on cue, his eyes started to warm up to the oppressive darkness when the candle was brought to a stop and Reyson started making out more than a silhouette.

   Chestnut wings, strong and weathered, forced together with bindings to prevent escape. The tanned skin of a scarred, bare torso. Wrists chained, the arms stretched up so tightly that no movement should be possible. His dishevelled hair was draped over his face, over the familiar bandana covering his eyes and the piece of fabric crudely stuffed into his mouth. He was rendered helpless, spread wide and naked at another's mercy. He was Tibarn, and it made Reyson overcome with anger and concern and humiliation on his behalf.

   "Tibarn!"

   Reyson threw himself at the barrier to no avail, shouting the name of his long-time caretaker and friend. If even the hawk king himself couldn't break free of these restraints, Reyson had reason to worry.

   This caught the attention of the other figure and it turned, revealing a smug grin on a pale face, the bringer of so many conflicting emotions of the past. It appeared Reyson had King Kilvas to thank for his capture again. Or... He dared to hope; was Naesala there to rescue them?

   "Oh. You wake already, Reyson?" Naesala remarked. He spoke so leisurely, as if Tibarn wasn't chained to the ceiling and... exposed. Reyson struggled to look away, long eyelashes fluttering as he awkwardly wished it would go dark again.

   "You will explain why we're here, Naesala," Reyson demanded firmly. "And if I don't like the answer--"

   "Woah, scary," Naesala interrupted, before pulling out something long and thin from his breast pocket and slowly running his fingers across it. "Might you know what this is?"

   Reyson didn't much care for his condescending tone and just barely managed to suppress the livid roar bubbling in his throat.

   "That's a feather. A white quill", he coldly responded, raising an eyebrow. "Is it mine?"

   Tibarn stirred from his position, a muffled gurgling noise emerging from the gag as if building up to a growl.

   "Don't worry, I would never pluck a feather from your pristine, royal plumage," Naesala said truthfully, still playing with the length of the quill and ignoring Tibarn utterly. "You shed this one some time ago I believe."

   "And you picked it up."

   "I was _cleaning_ up," Naesala corrected. "You make a mess when you scratch yourself, Reyson. Although you must've thought no one was watching."

   "Still you kept it."

   Reyson felt his cheeks burning despite himself.

   "What do you want, Naesala? Why are we here like... this?" he asked, forcing the image of Tibarn's build in that compromising position out of his head.

   "I want you to see this."

   Naesala slowly moved around his captive like a wolf circling its prey, the candle flame lighting up his cunning smile in unsettling ways. He placed himself next to Tibarn and brandished the feather again, twirling it playfully in his hands.

   "The great and powerful King Phoenicis' weakness is quite amazing," he started, chuckling at the muffled objection that followed. "And it is _quite_ a weakness indeed. From his impressive size alone, you would never guess it."

   "What are you getting at, Naesala?" Reyson hissed.

   "Wanting me to get right into it, do you?" mocked the raven. Even now he sounded like he always had, like they weren't in this situation at all. It sent a twinge through Reyson's chest but he could do naught but stare as Naesala turned to face Tibarn, leaning in to whisper in his pointed ear. "Are you ready for this again, Your Majesty?"

   It took only the slightest of movements. The very tip of the feather just barely brushed against the pit of Tibarn's well-sculpted arm and his entire body twitched aggressively, his breath hitching under the gag. Naesala scoffed at the reaction, utterly amused by the looks of it, and didn't remove the feather. He moved it ever so slightly up and down and in circles in that same spot, forcing the mighty hawk king into a frenzy. Tibarn shook against his restraints, groaning into the invasive fabric while chains clinked and clanged in unison.

   This was... a form of torture, Reyson recalled; tickling one's prisoners into submission. But Tibarn was the strongest, most toughest laguz around, and that feather was barely touching him.

   "See, now, this is Reyson's feather right here," Naesala said in a low voice clearly meant to antagonize the struggling hawk. "Does that feel good, Tibarn, feeling the lightness of heron royalty on your skin? This way you're indirectly being tickled by Reyson, you know? That feel good?"

   If Tibarn had anything to say to this fiendish mockery, it could not be heard. He only groaned helplessly, tensing his body up with stubborn purpose. A man like him would refuse to give Naesala the pleasure of giving in and laughing.

   It was the slightest touch of the tiniest point of the lightest object, meticulously teasing one small spot on such a huge body and somehow eliciting such a mad reaction. What would happen if Naesala decided to cover more areas, with more tools and more fierceness? How would Tibarn handle anything even close to that if barely grazing his skin could do this to him?

   Reyson helplessly pressed against the magic wall, subconsciously grinding his legs together as the room started to feel hot. He couldn't tear his eyes away.

   Naesala shifted his weight and placed one hand on his hip with the other wielding the quill, giving no breaks whatsoever as he continued the torture. The way Tibarn was bound, his arms really couldn't move beyond twitching or opening up more space to tickle. It seemed like that would be an incredible strain on his muscles, Reyson thought. He was always so strong, so fierce, that him not being able to get away from Naesala's grasp despite his struggles seemed almost like mere fantasy.

   The circles grew bigger now; that despicable crow saw fit to cover more space, letting his weapon glide and travel from underarm to hip and back up. Tibarn threw his head back and huffed out a cracked moan, almost like a wail. Reyson bit his lip and watched, mesmerized, as the hawk king's chest heaved beautifully with every movement.

   "Wait a second..." Naesala mused, but contrary to his words he still didn't stop and instead absentmindedly picked up the pace wherever he could get the biggest reactions. It seemed like an entire forever of deliciously teased skin before he finally said what was on his mind. "I seem to remember something you like."

   Dangerously slow, Naesala moved the quill inwards towards the pecs, watching as they quivered in response. He turned the quill on its side and flicked it over the erect nipple, wringing a gasp out of Tibarn who then shook his head vehemently, as if begging him not to do this. It was beyond unlike him.

   "He's so laughably ticklish, this one. Imagine how sensitive he is in these places..."

   Another vicious flick.

   Reyson exhaled slowly, entranced.

   Another. And another, continuously, until there were audible moans of pleasure leaking out, albeit forced ones. Reyson clutched his legs as shivers moved through his wings. Suddenly he waited with bated breath for what would happen next. What would happen if not one, but two feathers were used? What would happen if there was one on each side, violating so slowly...

   He shook his head, wanting to smack himself in the face for these unhelpful thoughts. He should not be encouraging this treatment; it was torture! While causing no harm, it was still surely painful--beyond painful for someone with Tibarn's... sensitivity...

   It was as if Reyson's eyes completely glazed over as any and all protests were shoved aside again, and he kept watching.

   "You like that, Tibarn? Right there?" Naesala teased. "It turns out, we've barely started."

   As if reading Reyson's mind completely, he pulled out something else from his pocket. At first it seemed like something entirely different, but it was another feather quill. Only, this one was midnight black.

   Naesala turned and moved behind Tibarn again, prodding lightly at his wings as he did so. From his new position he reached out both hands, one holding the heron feather and the other holding the new one, hovering them just over Tibarn's underarms; evidently his worst spots.

   "This... is Reyson's," he explained while quickly brushing the susceptible skin with the specified tool, eliciting a pained grunt from his powerless toy. "And this... is mine."

   "Mmmph!!"

   The other moved now, gently yet violently at the same time, both feathers assaulting those hypersensitive parts with excruciating precision. The heron quill was light, soft and playful while the raven quill seemed sharper, more precise, with a ticklish sting to it. And they hit their marks well by the looks and sounds of it; Tibarn inhaled into staggering wails, every laboured gasp of breath preceding cries of sweet agony. His body shook with desperation, sent into severe trembling as he attempted to jerk it away but only succeeded in making himself more exposed, more vulnerable to the tools so painstakingly tormenting every section he would likely do any bidding to avoid. But the more he wanted them avoided, the more, the longer, the rougher they were tickled. And somehow with every mockery, with every patronizing "tickle, tickle, tickle" coming out of Naesala's wretched mouth, it only seemed to make the poor hawk more sensitive.

   Sweat trickled down Tibarn's bronzed body and the feathers followed to cover his abdomen, dipping into every crevice with merciless abuse. A deep, rumbling groan escaped Tibarn then, cracking into a laughter-filled howl. It was like an involuntary signal to the severely entertained raven, who took it as an indication to focus his attention on those heaving, protruding abs. They weren't quite as ticklish as his underarms, but Naesala clearly had ideas in order to have his way as much as possible. While the heron feather brushed and flicked across Tibarn's shivering stomach, the raven parted his cunning lips and let the tip of his tongue dance on the no doubt salty surface of the closest armpit as the remaining quill gingerly took care of the other.

   "Ohh yeah, look at you," Naesala mumbled, amused in a very different way from earlier. Reyson found himself subconsciously relating before internally reprimanding himself. "I can do this for as long as I like. How does that feel, O mighty Hawk King? To know that it could be _hours_ before I finally give you some sliver of mercy?"

   Reyson swallowed.

   "Reyson's been watching you this entire time, Your Majesty. The heron prince has been watching me tickle you like this without tearing his eyes away for a second. What? Does that turn you on?"

   All that could be heard was Tibarn's frantic gasps for air in-between agonized screams. He could be laying down an array of profanity for Naesala behind that gag, or begging him to stop. None of them had any way of knowing, and only Naesala knew when the teasing would cease, if at all.

   But since Tibarn couldn't speak, it should have been up to Reyson to do something about this, yet what had he done? Like his supposed friend had said, he'd been watching, and watching, blaming his inaction on his unfortunate imprisonment when he could have used his own voice to stop this atrocity.

   It was never too late, he told himself, but he would be sure to apologize to Tibarn at a later time. He honestly could not believe how he'd managed to keep silent after seeing something like this.

   "That's enough!" Reyson roared.

   Naesala didn't stop, but their eyes met and he listened.

   "Just stop, Naesala. Please."

   He hated having to resort to this, but it didn't matter. Reyson's pride was nothing compared to what Tibarn's pride had been going through. But what Naesala said then threw him entirely off balance.

   "You got it, Reyson. I'll stop," he conceded. Easily--too easily?

   "I... I see. You had better."

   "I'll stop... on one condition."

   Of course, Reyson thought, grinding his teeth.

   "Fine! What's your condition? I'll do it, just stop! He's had enough, can't you see that?"

   Naesala raised a brow.

   "Had enough? Oh, Reyson... I know you mean well, but I can't say I've even started yet."

   Even though they were talking, he still wouldn't stop tickling his captive. For just a moment, Reyson thought he actually would, but all he did was dispose of the feathers. The mere second of a break Tibarn was given during that time could never have prepared him for the full force of Naesala's ruthless fingers. He wrapped his arms around Tibarn's torso from behind, like a deadly embrace, and dug all ten fingers into the violated hawk king's ribs. By comparison, Tibarn had barely made a sound prior to this treatment. He flailed violently, attempting to get away, to get anywhere, but like before all he did was move into Naesala's hands as if welcoming the conniving bastard to his body, as if begging to be demolished and tantalized and spoiled.

   This was nothing like before. He was being tickled _raw_ and rampant with primal purpose, his every pore and entirety a canvas to be invaded by squirming, ceaseless, tempestuous fingers.

   "N-Naesala!" Reyson exclaimed, flustered. "I told you to stop, and you will _stop_!"

   "And I heard you. I told you I'll stop, didn't I?"

   "Yes, on that 'one condition'. I'll have you tell me what it is already or I can't swear I'll let you leave this place in once piece!"

   The raven's lips curled into a smile.

   "Ah, Reyson. So eager to please when it comes to him. Well then, I'll not only stop right now, but I'll also promise to let the both of you go within the hour if you do as I say."

   "I'll do anything," Reyson said--with some difficulty, but he meant it nevertheless.

   "Alright. You've already been watching me, so you know what to do."

   With those words, Naesala stepped away and left Tibarn to slump over in exhaustion, his massive, ravaged body covered in sweat from the intense struggle. Reyson tucked his platinum hair behind an ear and frowned. "W-what?"

   "Oh, my apologies. I was unclear," said Naesala and gestured towards Tibarn. "Tickle him."

   The heron prince blinked a few times, unable to quite process what he had been just asked to do. "What?" he repeated.

   "As I said, I'll let you go within the hour if you do anything I say. And I'm just telling you to keep tickling him. Like I promised, I won't touch him myself."

   Reyson's complexion turned crimson both with anger and the thought of laying his hands on that body in that condition.

   "You... slithering _cheat_! I told you to stop and you weasel your way out by making me do unto him what I've been trying to prevent?"

   Naesala simply shrugged and looked the other way.

   "If you don't... I'll just go back in there. And who knows for how long I'll work him over. Could be hours, could be days, could be forever. Besides, I won't police how you do it; you can be as gentle for his sake as you'd like."

   "Why are you... even doing this?" Reyson asked, dejected.

   "Can't tell you. Sorry, Reyson."

   At this, he simply shot a glance towards Tibarn, silently telling the bewildered prince to just stop asking questions and go with it. Reyson followed his gaze and exhaled into a quiver; he was not prepared to do this.

   Did this mean he would have to do to Tibarn what he'd just witnessed... for as much as one hour? He had to tickle and tease a defenseless Tibarn's naked body for an hour?

   Reyson squirmed, and something that was not magic surged within him.


	2. Mercy and Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His mind is breaking.
> 
> Not an inch is spared on Tibarn's ravaged skin as he receives the full experience of softness meeting roughness, tenderness meeting cruetly. While the clock ticks away at an alarming lack of speed, he swims through the middleground between torture and pleasure, throwing and flailing his helplessly stretched, muscular build into a tempest of ticklish abuse at the mercy of his valuable friend.
> 
> But once it's taken too far, someone has to step in and take his place; and there are only three people present, after all.

His throat was on fire; every wheeze of breath he took to regain whatever semblance of peace he was permitted scratched painfully against the dry passage. He'd swallow to remedy this, but even his saliva was spent from all the noises forced out of him--not to mention his inability to close his mouth with that ball of fabric pressed in there. A thread of drool still hung from his chin, about to drop down onto his chest. He could still feel the burning sensation of fringes and fingertips swarming his skin and shuddered, both at the memory and out of apprehension; it would likely begin anew very soon.

   Tibarn pressed his eyes shut behind the bandana blindfold and concentrated deeply. Flailing about wildly had done him little good, and his strength was nowhere near returning at this point so he had no way of physically breaking the chains. Although, they couldn't have been broken from the start; not with mere brawn. They were channelled in some manner, he presumed.

   But Naesala wasn't capable of those kind of powers. Tibarn raised the question again in his mind, but the thought of that wretched raven only brought back those feelings of humiliation and made it very difficult for him to keep a level head.

   As long as Reyson wasn't harmed, he would have to endure, is what he told himself. He would endure and then he would rip Naesala's head off and feed it to a dragon.

   But no. The scum wouldn't leave even Reyson out of this.

   "Tickle him."

   This alone sent a dynamic jolt of a sensation throughout Tibarn's body, as if conditioned to react like the simple word itself was akin to the action. He took a breath, internally reprimanding himself and coercing his senses slowly into relaxation again. No matter the reason, forcing the proud, valuable heron prince to do a crow's bidding like that, against family no less, was beyond unforgivable. Tibarn subconsciously opened and closed his fists with suppressed rage as he could only hope Reyson would end up refusing for his own sake; he shouldn't be burdened with such guilt. But even still should he accept Naesala's ludicrous ultimatum, Tibarn would endure.

   "I will do it."

   _Oh, Reyson..._

   "I told you I'll do anything and I will keep my word," said the heron prince dispiritedly. It enraged Tibarn to hear that melodious voice forced to take such depressing tones. "Remove this barrier first, or I won't be able to reach him."

   "I know," Naesala responded lackadaisically. "You would have pounced on me and ripped every feather from my body otherwise."

   He snapped his fingers and Tibarn frowned. He had signalled someone, surely. Someone else was within audible range of the three--a mage no doubt--but Tibarn heard nothing to suggest their whereabouts.  Just as he wondered if this accomplice was visible from Reyson's position, he heard the sound of shuffling attire and something like a growl followed by: "You know me well; that's just what I am going to do!"

   "Woah, hey--"

   In the next instant, Tibarn had no clue what was going on. He heard them clash and could only visualize an image of Reyson performing a running tackle. As far as Tibarn was concerned it was glorious.

   "Easy, Reyson--hey!" Naesala called out. "What happened to keeping your word?"

   "I keep my word, unlike you," Reyson retorted. "Which begs the question: will you keep yours this time?"

   Nice one, Tibarn thought, inwardly praising the young heron's feisty nature. On one hand, someone like the prince of Serenes really shouldn't be dirtying his hands with violence, but on the other... he had been around the hawks of Phoenicis for quite some time. Tibarn knew their demeanours had rubbed off on him but he found himself wondering if there was some way to tone it down--not that he was in any position to complain; he wanted Naesala to pay just as much.

   "Oof! Alright, alright, get off of--!"

   There was a thud, and Naesala audibly heaved.

   "Tell you what... if I don't release you in one hour, you can punish me in whichever way you see fit."

   "I don't believe you," Reyson scoffed, understandably.

   "I'm serious. I'll place myself as collateral; if the door doesn't open when I promised..." Naesala exhaled, seemingly unsettled in some way. "... then you can tickle me instead."

   "I don't want to do that," Reyson immediately interjected.

   I do, Tibarn thought, thinking of fewer ways to better teach Naesala how it felt having to suffer humiliation of that scale.

   "I'll let him go, too," Naesala then suggested, painted into a corner as he was. "The door can't be opened with force, so you still wouldn't be able to get out, but... should it come to it that I don't keep my word, you can both do... that... unto me."

   There was some silence, during which Tibarn listened intently for any signs of reaction anywhere.

   "Not that it matters," Naesala added confidently. "That door will open, as long as we have a deal."

   "I don't understand why you would do this... or why you would offer yourself up in the same way," Reyson mumbled.

   Silence again. Tibarn wished he could see their faces, gauge their expressions in some way to find out what they were thinking. Naesala especially, seeing as--now that Reyson mentioned it--this didn't seem a rewarding venture for him in the least.

   Reyson finally broke the silence.

   "... Fine. You will have your way, for now. One hour. And should my time be wasted, we will make you wish you'd never been born."

   "I hear and obey, Your Highness."

   So it was coming again. Tibarn attempted to prepare himself through a series of deep breaths, every exhale joining with the sound of Reyson's heels clicking against the floor. He approached slowly, carefully, as if gliding across the room towards him, before arriving a mere breath away from his face. There was a moment of absolute nothing during which Tibarn's anxiety started to build. Where would he begin? How would he do it?

   Where was he looking? Someplace in particular, or did his eyes travel? Did they watch as the remaining sweat and stringy saliva trickled down his physique? Did they judge and measure the still quivering tremors in his exhausted limbs?

   One delicate finger drew a smooth line down his stomach and he trembled. He knew Reyson was only trying to be kind, but he was being unfairly gentle bordering on dangerous. Tibarn could only sink his teeth into the balled-up gag and focus, fighting against reactions, insisting on staying strong, but every slight caress spawned wild, burning sensations.

   "I know I said you could proceed however you liked, Reyson, but... you have to actually tickle him--not simply touch him."

   That word again. It was as if Tibarn's insides convulsed.

   "Stand over there and don't say a word, or I swear I'll do worse to you instead," Reyson seethed.

   He seemed to take those words into account however as Tibarn soon realized--to his dismay. Reyson's presence left to circle around him and he could only assume the next touch would emerge from behind. He sucked in a breath and tensed up in preparation, only to break out coughing when the next gasp overpowered his lungs and a nightmare of sensations assaulted every inch of his sides. Those were heron feathers. Not one, not two, not ten, not twenty... many more. As many as it would take to lift to the skies.

   Tibarn jerked violently back and forth, unwillingly pressing his naked underarms, ribs, waist, chest, hip bones and thighs into the ferocious army of feathers that were Reyson's wings. Not a pore on his sensitive sides were spared, even his stomach getting a taste as the occasional fringe made contact.

   "I am... sorry, Tibarn," Reyson whispered. "I fear he may not keep his word after all unless I do it properly by his standards. I'm so sorry..."

   He tried to understand. Tibarn knew the good and purity of his charge and that he only wanted to help in the end. But every part of him was stinging with such forced sensations that he felt himself going completely mad already, mere seconds into the harassment--never mind an entire hour. He felt faint, his eyes rolling up as he gasped aggressively for every fragment of breath he could receive. One feather had been enough. Two feathers had been too much. An entire plumage brushing him up and down and all over was the very accentuated essence of torture.

   And it was Reyson.

   And it felt so... so _good_.

   They were wings; it wasn't a simple task manoeuvring  them in such a fashion, so they were bound to hit more than they intended. And they did. With every flutter, at least one outlier would reach Tibarn's exposed lap and stimulate soft moans from his cracked throat--when he wasn't screaming in muffled agony. An arousal was building--staggered and enforced--every merciless tease of shaft and head alike a cruciation in and of itself, and every bit as electrifying and harrowing as the equal titillation of his defenseless nipples.

   The continuous fluttering ensued without the slightest whisper of a break. An overwhelming feeling of drunken warmth spread throughout Tibarn's system and he hardened considerably as if to further his trepidation; with every rising inch, it only became an easier target for the array of pinions so sweetly defiling him. Normally, he assumed one would get used to the feeling, grow sore and desensitized, but somehow with every excruciating second ticking away towards that insurmountable hour Tibarn felt as if he only grew more sensitive.

   But he could scream no louder. He could suppress no moan and no laughter. He couldn't _breathe_. He couldn't feel anything but biting feathers, feathers teasing and tickling and torturing him beyond senseless. It felt as if he was truly going mad, like they could somehow wiggle and squirm beyond his skin and into his mind.

   "Heh... Well, now. Not so distressed anymore, is he?" Naesala mocked from wherever he was perched. "I can see something rising right there. How very fitting for the hawk king..."

   There was no retort; Reyson was too busy. Their raven 'friend' seemed to take this as a warm welcome to approach, to stare, to mock. Tibarn felt him get closer, felt his sinister breath as he scrutinized every inch. He didn't make any moves to touch him, but rather took quite the front row seat to watch--good to his word at least, for once.

   Tibarn laughed miserably. The sombre chamber echoed with the grievous clanking of chain against chain and anguished howls begging for it all to be over, until Naesala saw fit to make everything worse. He leaned in closer, ever closer, his voice a low melody of exquisite ridicule. "Tickle, tickle, Tibarn..."

   Tibarn flinched and flailed at this, grunting into his gag. While his mind screamed, Naesala only laughed. If Reyson reacted beyond a suspiciously jittery exhale, Tibarn couldn't tell.

   "Why does that word entice you so? Does it anger you, Tibarn... or turn you on?" the raven cooed. "I'll say it as much as you want, Your Majesty. Tickle... tickle... tickle."

   His fingers hovered over Tibarn's steaming body, refusing contact but emitting a definite presence, as if letting him know they had power over him and his unguarded skin.

   "How... how long has it been," Reyson huffed from his position behind the victim.

   "Ten minutes as of right now."

   "What?"

   _What?!_

"That's right. A mere fifty to go."

   He couldn't take more of this. He couldn't endure. He knew he could, he knew that King Phoenicis of all people was the one who could--and would. But he... _couldn't_.

   Tibarn squeezed out a miserable whine so unlike him it hurt.

   "How can you even be sure of the time in a place like this?"

   "Believe me, I know," Naesala assured him. "And even if I didn't, I'm sure you've been counting the seconds."

   "I... am not sure I can do this to him for much longer," Reyson stuttered--unlike him, as well. "If I could offer up myself instead, I would without hesitation."

   Tibarn's breath hitched at this. No... Even the current treatment was manageable compared to Reyson being subjected to such suffering. To even hear him consider it was madness.

   But Naesala appeared intrigued indeed. So much for not harming the prince, Tibarn thought.

   "'If' you could?" he repeated. "Why haven't you?"

   "I'm not sensitive like Tibarn," Reyson admitted. His choice of words irked the proud hawk king in more ways than one and he let out a tired grunt.

   "You mean you're not ticklish, then?"

   "No. Leanne often tried, a long time ago, when... she wanted me to smile. She would poke and prod at my waist but I did not feel it like Tibarn does."

   "Oh? Did she try anywhere else?"

   "No... Why?" Reyson asked, suspicious. Tibarn didn't like where this was going in the least.

   "If I can find a place where you're ticklish, you don't have to do this anymore. How's that?"

   This was utter madness. Naesala was a snake, and one should never trust his word no matter what. He had proven it enough times to be sure.

   "I suppose? I doubt you will, however, so I fail to see the point."

   "You did say you'd offer yourself up without hesitation, so what's the harm in giving big guy here a break?"

   After a moment of contemplation, Tibarn could only assume Reyson nodded in compliance.

   And so the victims were switched.

   "He won't be needing this, then", Naesala said right before swiping the bandana from Tibarn's eyes.

   He blinked against the subtle lighting as he searched for Reyson, finding him willingly placing his hands in restraints similar to his own. That pale, illustrious face was riddled with insecurity and doubt, unfitting compared to its usual iron strength. Tibarn squinted, taking this time to breathe while attempting to ignore the roaring pulsating of his arousal. Seeing the untouched heron prince tied up and vulnerable was very counterproductive that way.

   At first, Naesala tested his waters by running his fingers across Reyson's sides, prodding at his ribs and hips with no satisfactory reaction. For now he was kind enough, at the very least, but Tibarn meant to gather his strength as fast as possible so as to tear that miserable vermin's hands off such a sacred personage.

   "I told you", Reyson insisted. "I'm not ticklish."

   "Easy, Reyson. I was only testing you."

   He stepped away for a moment, leaving Reyson to sit on the cold floor with his wrists bound at his back. When Naesala returned, he carried two more cuffs. He coerced the bewildered heron into sliding his boots off, revealing luscious, flawless skin. Next he was told to spread his legs, after which Naesala fastened the cuffs to his ankles. The cuffs themselves were clearly not attached to anything, yet as soon as Naesala snapped his fingers, Reyson visibly couldn't move.

   Who could be nearby doing these things? Tibarn would have loved some more time to ponder this, but a shrill noise pierced the entire room; one quick flick of the raven's fingers on those exposed soles was all it took.

   Reyson was indeed ticklish.

   Tibarn winced.

   "Well, then... It would seem I was right," Naesala bragged.

   But the cuffs were not enough. In his hands were a pair of thin straps which he gently wrapped around each big toe. He then pulled them back tightly and attached the straps firmly to the cuffs, stretching and revealing the entire upper part of the soles. While Reyson attempted to protest it was still not enough; less than a second later he could no longer speak. The raven's squirmy fingers had taken over his most sensitive points and would ravage them with relentless tickles until the elusive hour had passed.

   The hawk's length twitched fervently. There was an involuntarily moan of misguided pleasure, but nobody caught it over the new onslaught of shrieks and pleading cries echoing throughout the dismal torture chamber.

   Perhaps the heron was more sensitive than the hawk after all.


	3. Depraved and Abused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heron and hawk are both in his hands as Naesala makes use of the strange power surrounding the sealed room to fulfill his wishes, leaving the two entirely at his mercy and aching for release. But to whose mercy is that power, and what will it do once the time runs out? Who will break first, and who will have to deal with the consequences?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i went nuts with this so idfk have fun ('▽^人)
> 
> last 20% or so have not been proofread but i just could not be arsed.

Patience.

   Only some minutes left. Just a little less than an hour and they would all be out of there. Of course, Naesala planned on making himself scarce first so as not to stick around for the hawk king's wrath.

   It wasn't that there was no enjoyment in this, but the exasperated mystery that was King Kilvas had more on his mind than he could let on. After all, this hadn't been his idea; people liked turning to him for pawn material like that. He figured going along with something like this--considering the stakes--would at the very least be a... lesser evil among evils.

   But Reyson's guess had been as good as his.

   _Why do this? Why go to the trouble?_

Naesala huffed. Aspiring to understand another beorc mind riddled with malady would just make him equally sick in turn. Then again who would be surprised at the notion, he thought, masking his discontent with a characteristic sneer.

   Only a little while longer, he repeated to himself. But on the other hand it could take its time at the moment for all he cared; there was after all the alluring aspect of Prince Serenes, squirming beneath his elated fingertips, to consider.

   "'Not ticklish'," the raven echoed, recalling vividly Reyson's offer of sacrifice.

   With as much delicacy as he could muster, Naesala draped his pallid fingers across his innocent victim's shackled, fragile soles. Smoothly they ventured, nails barely brushing against the naked, twitching skin. The gentle softness of his fingertips hungered for the sweetest reactions as they nimbly taunted and toyed.

   From his reaction alone, never mind his earlier statement, Reyson clearly had never been tickled before in his long laguz life. Frankly, it was quite the hilarity--yet endearing in equal measure, Naesala mused, completely immersed.

   And Reyson's laughter was angelic, unsurprisingly. His voice was already known for its melodious nature, but even reduced to a gasping mess he somehow managed to remain elegant and tasteful. It was so like him that Naesala's mind wandered to the unfortunate state of their mutual hawk friend; how his demeanour had been so crudely twisted from its norm. Part of him wanted to see what kind of face Reyson would make in such a state, what kind of noises would emerge.

   Right now, he said nothing. His offer to become the new ticklish target wasn't insincere in the least, then, despite that delightful inexperience. Naesala would just have to see how far the poor prince had to be driven in order to grace him with a darling 'please'...

   At the same time, he couldn't hurt him. He mustn't. This was all in good fun, he told himself.

   "How's your first time, Reyson?" he asked over the ethereal sound of his ticklee's laughter.

   Reyson hunched over, shaking those long, golden locks back and forth as he attempted to speak, but he only managed to squeeze out some imperceptible slurring before the wheezing took over. He struggled despite himself, reflexively curling his toes and fighting the restraints. His pursuit was, needless to say, entirely fruitless, however charming.

   "Where do you think you're going in those?" Naesala cooed. Either Reyson had no quick retort to offer this time or he was unable to use it.

   "Ohh, am I driving you too hard already? I hate to say this, but you quite literally brought this upon yourself, Reyson. Not to mention... You are so delicate and sensitive, I can't help but play with you."

   As expected of a heron--royalty, no less--even the feet were beautiful. The long arches and necks gave them a graceful look, hinting towards the elegance of his transformed avian shape. The pillowy mounds were a fetching addition, and judging by how he toiled to hide them, he clearly didn't want them touched. But having him get used to the sensation wouldn't do, so Naesala conveniently avoided focusing too much on the sweetest spots until he could come back with a vengeance and get them all at once.

   He directed his attention to one at a time now, spoiling the left foot with long, calculating fingers. With one hand grasping the heel, he suspended the other over the side, merely teasing the air above the skin in hoping it might increase the anticipation. "How about here, huh?" he inquired softly before slowly lowering his hand and letting his dancing fingertips descend lightly on the outer arch. Reyson let out a pained moan followed by a shivering spasm before staggering into a frenzied giggle. Naesala saw this as his cue to continue, so he gently teased up and down the side from the toes to the ankle bone while his other hand deftly traced the heels, sometimes moving up to give the inner arch a sweet tickle before heading back. Each time, he managed to hit a soft spot somewhere only to leave it as soon as it was found; he'd remember those dearly for later.

   Every once in a while Naesala would pick up the pace only to tremendously slow it down again, causing the cutest fluctuations in the prince's responses. Reyson would arch his back and shake against the overwhelming, invasive sensation, his body language pleading and suffering as the raven ran his fingers across the sides of his twitching feet with menacing purpose. Faster, even faster, then devilishly slow. The movement was almost rhythmical, but would turn sporadic every time the victim must've thought he was used to it. And once he might have truly gotten used to it, Naesala moved over to the other foot and gave it the same treatment.

   Reyson whined in-between every giggle, bending and stretching his torso and shaking his head from side to side in despair, to no avail. His reactions made him quite predictable and in turn susceptible; Naesala knew exactly where, how and when to prod him with every delicious squeal.

   His poor feet were shaking so with desperation; they couldn't take any more. This seemed like the perfect time to make him wish he didn't have any.

   "If you think this tickles in the slightest, I don't know if there's a word in any language for what I'm about to do to you now."

   Reyson was given just a moment to regain some air while Naesala got up to procure his desired weapons. There hadn't been any need to prepare them in advance however, as they were currently scattered across the floor--beneath the previous victim, no less, who was clearly tackling problems of his own with that... massive hard-on he was sporting.

   "Well, look at you..." Naesala chuckled, giving Tibarn a once-over. "You're going to poke someone's eye out with that."

   The hawk growled and glared despite his exhaustion while Naesala quickly tore his eyes away from that body so evidently quivering with fervour. He remembered his promise not to touch Tibarn again, however amusing it had been to command such a huge, flailing canvas of skin. He recalled how just the slight caress of a single feather had drove the mighty king mad, and was suddenly overcome with an urge to run his fingers all over that body, to find every sensitive spot and exploit them. He wanted to see how ticklish those erogenous zones were and for how long they could be teased. He wanted to know if just the one feather could edge that cock to climax if used in the right place for long enough... and he wanted to see how many times he could make him do it. Maybe each time, he would add another tool, add another round of those words that Tibarn loved so much, over and over, constantly letting him know how pathetically aroused he gets just from being tickled, until he'd come again, and again...

   Naesala slowly bit his lower lip, forcing himself to snap out of it. Technically, it wouldn't be 'touching him' if he didn't make actual contact, but he knew Reyson would never accept that.

   Then again, Reyson was in chains.

   An idea then made a comfortable nest in Naesala's mind as he gathered some of the hawk feathers shed onto the floor. He ran them along his fingers, wincing; that definitely tickled. And it definitely would.

   "Are you ready for this, old friend?"

   He snapped his fingers, causing Reyson to jump slightly, and opened his hand to let the feathers go--but they didn't drop to the ground. Instead, they floated in the air where they'd been released, surrounded by the same otherworldly glow as the barrier and the chains.

   _And the door_ , Naesala thought to himself. _But that will take care of itself when the time comes_.

   And this, too, would take care of itself; the animated hawk feathers flew swiftly on their own to accompany Reyson where he lay. Naesala had scarcely moved before they began inserting themselves between those trembling toes and swiftly moving back and forth. He could hear the high-pitched crack of Reyson's voice as he called out in surprise and howled beautifully with uncontrollable moan-filled laughter. The space between his toes became completely occupied with hawk feathers busily brushing with no sign of stopping or slowing down. When the left-over feathers found that they couldn't fit between his toes, they tickled wherever they _could_ fit, violently yet tenderly. And even better, the puppetmaster of these feathers undoubtedly remembered those important locations judging by the sight of a few quills causing wild eruptions from Reyson's pained lungs as soon as they hit the marks. And when they did, they showed not the slightest hint of moving away. Their fringy tips grazed the skin in small, never-ending circles right on the most ticklish of spots while their kin continuously brushed and wiggled around them.

   "Aahhh...!" Reyson whimpered powerfully, grimacing with anguished gasps. "H-how much... time h...haaa...!!"

   "What's that?" Naesala teased, enjoying his view.

   "How much time has... passed?" the chirping heron finally squeezed out.

   "Oh, there's at least half an hour left, my friend."

   The feathers sped up and increased their movements. Naesala sucked in a breath through his teeth, shaking his head and wincing at their brutality on Reyson's behalf.

   "Hh--!! Aah...! I... I ca... ahhmmm!!"

   "I'm sorry, I really can't understand you like that."

   "I c... I can't take it anymore," Reyson wheezed. "Nnhh...! N-no m... Nnahhh hhha! No more! It tick...!! It tickles so much!"

   "Mm, it does, doesn't it..." Naesala said with feigned sympathy. He could feel Tibarn's glare burn into his back but for once it didn't bother him in the slightest; he wasn't the one getting so turned on by the situation, after all.

   Well... Maybe ever so slightly. But he would never let it show so crudely.

   "S-stop... Stop, stop, stop, stop, _stop_!" Reyson cried. It would have been alarming had it not been because of ticklish feet.

   "You offered yourself up, Reyson," Naesala patiently explained. "Either hold on until the time runs out, or Tibarn is up for grabs again."

   "I... Mm!! I don't want that..." Reyson admitted weakly.

   "Hmm. You certainly don't want that, but what might _he_ want?"

   "Wh... What?"

   With what strength he could muster, the enraged heron supported his weight on his elbows and pushed himself up to sitting, blowing long strands of shimmering golden hair out of his face as he did so. The torment clearly showed in those piercing jade eyes, sweat seeping through his clothes from the struggle to stay coherent and sane.

   "You're... planning something..." he said with some effort. "You had better keep your word or you are a _dead_ man."

   As if to shut him up, several more hawk feathers rose from the floor and initiated an onslaught of insistent flicks wherever a spot became vacant. Either they found room to sweep his unguarded toes, or they joined in the sheer brutality of those relentless quills hogging every X mark, digging away at the treasures that were Reyson's distressed wails. At least two feather points each were fighting for space, so softly and viciously tickling away at the most sensitive parts of a pair of feet that had never once known the sensation. Naesala could scarcely imagine the feeling. All he could do was hear the agony, to watch as Reyson twitched and writhed.

   Then one way or another, an additional spot was found. It took the impish plumes less than a second to battle for dominance over which could tickle it the most and elicit the tastiest of reactions. Reyson objected by arching his back far, rolling his little hips up and down as he squealed, no doubt wracked with pained, tingly surges of mad sensation.

   Naesala almost forgot himself as he watched.

   "Ah, well, as I was saying... Tibarn might not want to be left alone with a problem of that, er... magnitude," he calmly pointed out while attempting to drown the loud albeit pleasant noise of Reyson's desperate gasps bouncing off the walls. "I'd just like to relieve him."

   This was somewhat spoken in jest, if only to see what manner of objection he'd get, and perhaps some delightful begging. But either Reyson had no energy left to speak or he chose to withhold any protest.

   _Curious_ , thought Naesala, thinking back again to the image of Tibarn broken into submission. _How far can I prod, I wonder_...

   "It's not that I doubt he'll have a happy ending by simply watching you squirm like that, but it seems to me he'll be in so much pain until that happens, don't you agree?"

   Naesala wondered if his pure prince friend was merely too embarrassed at the notion to respond.

   "Should I take that silence as compliance, then?" he tested.

   All he got back was a curious glare through dishevelled hair. He would have pondered on what that glare meant, exactly, but he had just been offered King Phoenicis on a most exquisite platter and everything else would have to wait.

   "Oh, my most esteemed of guests... We're not done with you yet after all."

   The urge to ravage those tanned sides without end was maddening, but Naesala would take care not to violate the terms so readily. Bending them to suit his will was a different matter altogether, and perverse as it was, he would see that will through with pleasure.

   Behind him, Naesala could still hear Reyson's aching lament. It sounded like he could barely laugh any longer; only gasp and moan. Each little noise was like a wordless begging for the slightest of mercies, as he received none whatsoever.

   But while the echo of staggering cries was definitely agreeable, Naesala's focus was once more on the hawk king. Specifically that throbbing mess caused by Reyson's ruthless feathers--and the aftermath had no small part in it, most likely.

   At the sight of the two quills once again in Naesala's hands, Tibarn withdrew with a chilly look in his stern eyes.

   "Oh, shh shhh," Naesala hushed softly despite himself. "Let's make you go wild, shall we?"

   First he began by running the white quill softly along the shaft, smiling as a gravelly moan escaped Tibarn's drooling lips. He made sure to stop and tease where it felt good; he'd lightly tickle the fraenulum with the very tip in erotic, slow motions, then pick up speed for quite some time before heading down the length--right when it seemed Tibarn was at his limit--the fringy sides of the feather leaving gentle kisses on the shaft. He traced every vein as if following a map, treating the head like a palette for his dry paintbrush as he circled and circled. Purposefully, he avoided the urethra every step of the way before flicking over it viciously to get a mewling response.

   Tibarn moaned so sweetly with each touch that Naesala began to feel he'd have some trouble concealing his own desire soon.

   "Reyson's feather caressing your hard-on while the prince himself is screaming and squirming in the background... How does that make you feel? Oh...!"

   Tibarn twitched considerably.

   "Was that a nice spot? Here?"

   Standing the feather up to better please that sweetness with the tip, Naesala gingerly watched for reactions. He was generously rewarded with a high whimper, a relieved grunt and the involuntary flexing of sweaty muscles.

   "There you go... Feel good right there, huh? Oh--!"  
   The feather was slowly becoming sticky, he realized with smug elation.

   "How about... I tickle you right here until you come?" he proposed.

   This gave birth to another brilliant idea. Hoping it might still work, Naesala snapped his fingers and stepped away with his hands in the air. Like before, the object remained in motion, and he was free to do what he willed. Almost, at the very least; he still couldn't lay his hands on Tibarn, no matter how he wished for it.

   "Ah. Right... You like that word, don't you?"

   With a carefree 'excuse me', Naesala picked up the only two remaining feathers he could find and retreated to Tibarn's back, like before. He positioned the tips of his lovely tools above the hawk king's chest, and with fiendishly gentle movements had them descend upon his pitifully erect nipples.

   "Will it make you feel better if I tease you like that, eh?" Naesala whispered. "Should I say that word for you while I do this? Ti--ckle tickle tickle tickle..."

   As Tibarn was worked faster and faster, Reyson was treated rougher and rougher. They were each at their own kind of limit and it filled the room with a certain glazed-over warmth that not even Naesala could ignore. There was so much manic pleasure-filled pain in the air that every breath felt heavy with steam.

   "You're gonna come for me, _Your Majesty_ ," Naesala mocked, feeling his face heat up at the sight of Tibarn's twitching body.

   "Hm? There? Ohh, would you look at that sorry sight..."

   He couldn't take it anymore. It was right there, shivering with sweet submission, that massive area of pure hypersensitivity stretched and spread out for him to invade and play with; Tibarn's newfound fragility was too much to just look at. Those protruding abs and ribs shaking with each sharp inhale, he needed to feel them again underneath his fingertips. He didn't know how he'd managed to stop when they were still so inviting. He didn't know if he'd be _able_ to stop.

   "You think that tickles, huh? Just brushing your nipples and tip like that? I don't think so."

   The feathers began their slow descent towards the floor.

   Tibarn's skin, shining all over from sweat, was forced to welcome the barrage; fingers digging hungrily into his underarms before skittering down his stretched sides and back up in raving repetition as he screamed with confused desperation.

   "You're gonna come for me," Naesala repeated. "You're gonna come from being tickled and you can't do a thing to stop it."

   The dark room echoed violently with screams, mixed only with the raven's taunts as he ran his talons over every inch of Tibarn's sensitive torso. He relished in every connection he made and every reaction he could squeeze out from those sturdy yet fragile sides. And the thought that this was making the man primal with pleasure only made Naesala's day better.

   "Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle," he repeated for good measure, knowing how it drove Tibarn insane to be ridiculed like that. "Aww, just look at you... You're such a glutton for torture, even just the verbal kind makes you this hard?"

   Tibarn's hips began twitching at a startling rate, causing the chains to jangle loudly along with his heavenly discordant moans.

   Naesala whistled, impressed by that raw strength.

   "How does it feel to know that my voice is making you come?" he teased.

   Tibarn threw his head back and roared; he was so ready to do it but Naesala couldn't let him do it just yet. With another snap of his finger, the feather slowed down almost to a stop, tickling so softly that he wasn't sure that pulsating cock could even feel it at this point.

   Tibarn voiced his objection with a pitifully resounding wail, almost climbing into a sob right as Naesala grabbed the fabric lodged inside his mouth and ripped it out. He wasn't given a chance to articulate anything before the taunts came back with a mad vengeance, coupled with the incessant skittering of fingers and nails choosing to once and for all settle at his most sensitive spot--the underarms.

   "Do you want to come, Tibarn?" Naesala provoked over the melody of screams. "Do you want me to let you come?"

   "Y-you... are... DEAD," the hawk retorted, his voice cracking considerably.

   "Ooh," Naesala winced. "Wrong answer."

   The somewhat sticky heron feather left to sweep the areas right next to the cock, purposefully avoiding it while Naesala, biting his lip to prevent himself from moaning, focused on the upper body torture. Without the gag in Tibarn's mouth his screams just became all the more lovely.

   "Do you want to come?" Naesala repeated, louder.

   "Gh! Yes!!"

   His fingers dug harder.

   "Does it tickle?" he then asked, with a brutal husk to his voice.

   "Yes!"

   His fingers moved faster.

   "Tell me it tickles," he demanded.

   "It...! It  tickles!!" Tibarn reluctantly cried.

   "How much does it tickle?"

   "Rrgh!! T... too much!!"

   "Where?"

   "Ahh, sh... it!!"

   "Answer!"

   "Right there!!"

   Naesala smirked.

   "Say that again."

   "Right there!" Tibarn yelled. "Right there!!"

   "Well... Since you're begging so much, I'll tickle you there."

   Tibarn screamed and shook, protesting against the cruel manipulation.

   "I'll let you come on one condition, hawk king."

   Naesala didn't bother wiping the sweat off his brow as he continued working wildly on those poor, twitching, sensitive spots.

   "Beg me to torture you," he urged. "Tell me how much you love it. Tell me how I'm making you come by tickling you... then beg some more."

   "I...!"

   Tibarn seemed to have a hard time coming to terms with those conditions, much to Naesala's amusement as it meant he'd get to keep touching him like this. But he also wanted the hawk king broken, so broken that he would go so far as gracing King Kilvas with begging.

   "I..." Tibarn tried again, that tough, mighty voice so different from its usual tone. "I love... it."

   "Aww, that was ridiculous--try harder!"

   "It... feels good!! When you t-tickle me it feels... so good it's g-gonna m-make me... come..."

   "Yeah? Go on?"

   "Pl-please tickle me! It's making... me... so hard I'm gonna... come...!"

   "Good boy... Keep going..."

   "Plea... se... Please torture me! Please let me come! Please!!"

   "That's a good little plaything," Naesala rewarded.

   But the feather wasn't needed; Naesala's fingers and voice were all it took. During their exchange, he'd been steadily moving faster and more sensually, refusing to leave that adorably ticklish location that was pushing Tibarn over the edge. It turned out, he really was coming from being tortured and ridiculed, and he was coming hard.

   Once the climax hit him he orgasmed in powerful, intense grunting moans mixed with the soft whimpers of a man reduced to begging. Naesala found his hand smooth down his own hip along his thigh, exhaling deeply as he tried to calm himself down. But this entire hour had made him too hard to ignore, too late.

   Hour.

   The hour must have passed by now, evident by the scattered, unmoving feathers around Reyson, who was greedily sucking in air now that he had more of a chance than a brief window. Naesala's eyes quickly darted towards the door at the very instant he heard a clanking and thud as the restraints opened and Tibarn's huge body fell to the floor.

   But the door was closed. Naesala knew why.

   And so did Reyson.

   As the graceful heron sat up to rub his ankles, a smile was visible on his face, bringing to mind the silent glare from earlier. He must have begrudgingly agreed to Naesala's covetous proposal in order to make him betray his word, and...

   Make him accept punishment.

   Naesala sprinted in spite of the darkness to where he knew the door was concealed, banging his fist on the wall. "Hey, beorc," he tried, a hint of fear and desperation clouding his normally dauntless demeanour. "It's time to let us out."

   But there was only silence as it seemed they never had a deal to begin with.

   He could handle the mutterings of 'half-breed' behind his back and to his face alike. He could even handle the fact that they burned down Serenes Forest along with the rest of Reyson and Leanne's kin. He could handle it if it meant the deals he made were beneficial to his declining country.

   But he didn't trust them. He should never have trusted them.

   All of a sudden, Naesala felt an odd force pull at his wrists, forcing him towards the enchanted chains in the ceiling where Tibarn had been kept. The wicked magic left a an illuminating trail as it wrapped the chains tightly around the struggling raven's arms, and no matter how hard he assumed he was fighting it, there was no winning against it.

   "N... no, wai--! Not there, it's..." he meekly objected when the same force began spreading his legs, revealing the glaring bulge in his clothes. His cheeks reddened considerably.

   They spread him far, upper and lower body alike, by tying his ankles in the same way and leaving his body suspended in the air, held only by chains he could never hope to break.

   "Guess what, _crow_ ," he heard Tibarn's laboured voice spit at him. "There's no time limit."

   "Ah...!" he started, but before any words came out of his mouth he felt big, ruthless hands grabbing the black fabric of his clothes. Right where his chest was exposed he felt a great snap as they were rudely ripped off his person, revealing light, untouched skin. At the same time, long, nimble fingers were pulling off his boots and already testing their waters on virgin soles.

   "H-hang on, just..."

   But it was too little, too late. Restraints bent his toes back far and feathers found their home between his toes while vengeful fingernails searched and destroyed where they pleased. Equally if not more vengeful were Tibarn's, as he towered naked over his quarry and began the assault; the rough edges of his wings brushed against sensitive flesh while his weighty hands left his prey's mind in utter ruins.

   His feet, his torso, even his legs were a battlefield of vindictive torture. Left to fend for itself was his tingling bulge, unable to escape the tightness of his trousers as any feather that could be spared unleashed brutally light tickling on the stretched fabric. The only movement alteration was faster. The only mercy was the fact that there were no more tools around to add to the torment.

   Naesala's screams stormed the walls, his body convulsing with pure agony as every part of him that could be tickled was plundered and spoiled and raw with frenzy, again and again without the slightest sign of ever stopping.

   And he was already about to come.


End file.
